


On What Could Never Be

by lifehappenedtome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apple Pie Life, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mentions of past drug use, We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place), or as close as it can get with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1451863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifehappenedtome/pseuds/lifehappenedtome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is inspired by We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place) by TomiSama04. If you have not read it, this may not make much sense to you. (And you really should read it, especially if you're into angsty Crowstiel).</p><p>It's just a normal Monday evening in the life of Anthony and Castiel. All they have to worry about is what they will have for dinner and whether or not they will be banned from the grocery store. It's almost too good to be true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On What Could Never Be

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/415182) by [TalesFromPerdition](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesFromPerdition/pseuds/TalesFromPerdition). 



> Happy Birthday, Luca. I gave this to you hoping it would give you so many feels you would pass out, and I think I sort of succeded. 
> 
> I don't have a beta for this, so if you find any language mistakes, please tell me. Thank you.

„No! Angel! Not that cheap rubbish, bloody hell...“

Castiel just smiles at him and adds the Tennessee whiskey to the shopping trolley before he moves on to the fruit and vegetable section. Anthony can barely follow him with the full to bursting point trolley.

“Why do you want whiskey, anyway? You never liked alcohol, not even my precious scotch,” he shouts after him, struggling with the weight of their groceries. Some things he would never understand about his angel.

“I don’t know.” Castiel shrugs. “Homesick?”

Of course. Anthony lets out a sigh. They have been living in London for several years now, and still Castiel would occasionally buy typical American food he has never particularly liked in the first place, just to be reminded of his homeland.

But Anthony understands him. It’s not like he didn’t consume a dangerously high amount of scotch back when he lived in Lawrence.

When he reaches Castiel, the man is staring at a green pepper in his left and a red pepper in his right hand, apparently weighing the pros and cons of buying either of them. After a while, he adds both of them to the trolley. And then some.

“What are you doing, darling? I thought we were going to have spaghetti tonight.” Anthony’s brows are furrowed as he watches Castiel taking more and more peppers.

“Changed my mind. I want a rice dish. With pepper.”

Anthony scoffs. “I figured as much.” It’s not like they need to worry about their expenses.

After adding almost all of the peppers to the trolley, Castiel just stares at their groceries, thinking. Then he turns towards him.

“Actually,” he begins, “Let’s go out for dinner.” And he just takes his hand and walks straight towards the exit.

“Angel! What about the-“

“Just leave the cart there. Someone will sort it out.”

So that’s how they leave the grocery empty-handed, without any spaghetti or pepper. Thankfully, also without Jack Daniel’s. Things like that happen with Castiel sometimes, and Anthony would be lying if he said he didn’t like his unpredictable behaviour.

The streets are relatively empty, for London standards. It’s a Monday evening in June, the sky is cobalt blue with a tad of pink on the horizon, and the two of them stop walking. Anthony watches Castiel, who’s staring longingly at the sky, a look on his face that tells nothing about his inner thoughts and feelings.

Neither of the two men moves. His angel is too focused on the sight of his ‘home’ to perceive the passing time, and Anthony himself is content with studying his face for the millionth time. It just never gets old, even as _he_ does. His skin isn’t as flawless anymore as it was back in their youth; thin wrinkles are starting to form on his forehead and around his eyes and his cheeks have long since grown fuller, the bones no longer sticking out, making him look less fragile.

The eyes are still the same, though. That consuming deep shade of blue framed by long, dark lashes and filled with undeniable depth. Whoever sees Castiel for the first time just has to glance at his eyes to be able to tell that he is highly intelligent. Highly intelligent and maybe not all too fond of people.

Suddenly, said eyes focus on him and Anthony sees what not everyone can see. A dangerous, almost animalistic spark at the edge of his pupils, like they were screaming for permission to dilate and eliminate the colour. It’s still there, after all these years.

“Any empirical findings from analysing my eyes?” Castiel asks drily.

Anthony stops staring and grins at him cockily. “Yes, God has obviously taken his favourite angel’s eye colour and painted the sky with it.“ Castiel snorts, and Anthony winks at him. “Just bathing in your beauty, angel.”

To this he nods, his head bowed, and Anthony stretches his hand out for him to take it. “Come on.” Neither of them says anything as they walk along the street towards the river.

They end up sitting on a bench on the waterfront, eating fish and chips. A few years ago, this would have been anything but a nice dinner to take someone out for, to Anthony at least. However, living with Castiel has changed his view on many things, his standards for a night out being just one of many. Then again, he’s probably had double standards ever since he sunk lower than a deep sea fish.

“Does the fish meet your expectations, lovely?” he asks sarcastically.

Castiel just growls in response first, his mouth filled with chips. He swallows before he speaks. “I like the fries. Thick and salty and covered in white, just how I like it.”

“Chips,” Anthony corrects automatically. Then he chuckles and casually puts an arm around Castiel after he’s finished with his meal, ignoring the way Castiel’s body tenses for a second at the contact before he relaxes into it.

“You know, Castiel, one would never guess about your filthy mouth from looking at you.”

The other man shrugs and pushes his half-eaten fish away, carefully leaning against his shoulder. “You were able to guess after a few meetings on the boy’s toilet, though.”

“True.” A smile spreads across Anthony’s face, and even the corners of Castiel’s mouth quirk up.

They sit silently for a few minutes. The sky has turned dark by now and there aren’t many people on the streets anymore. The moon is shining through a layer of smog, fighting with the streetlamps to illuminate the alleys and bringing reflections to the Thames’ slight waves. A chill breeze is blowing and they move closer together.

Anthony pulls out a cigarette and tries to light it, but with his arm around Castiel he can’t keep the wind from blowing out the lighter every time. The other man helps him out by raising his hand and this time, the tobacco catches alight.

They pass the cigarette back and forth, their fingers brushing against each other every now and then. Anthony takes a deep drag and speaks with a thin voice as he blows out the smoke.

“Always reminds me of old times when we share a cigarette.”

No response. Instead, Castiel takes the cigarette from him wordlessly, inhales one last time and puts it out before it has burnt down. Anthony doesn’t comment on it. He’s still unpredictable. No one knows him better than Anthony, and still he’s not able to tell when he would carelessly pass snarky comments about their history with drugs and when he would be sensitive about it.

There’s a familiar tension among them as both men get lost in their memories. And though it was a hard time for both of them, going back to it isn’t completely unpleasant. They do this from time to time, and with the knowledge that they have a new life now, the memories of snorting and shooting up are bearable. It’s something they have left behind. Together.

So the thoughts come, and they pass.

When Castiel speaks again, his voice is a little hoarse. “Are you going to buy tickets for the Frankenstein screening in September?”

Anthony furrows his brows. “But you’ve already seen Benedict as the Creature.”

“I know.”

“Live.”

“Yes.”

“Twice!”

“He’s gorgeous!”

“And I am not?”

Castiel glances up at him. “You’re not as smart as Sherlock.”

“Probably not.”

“But almost as tragic as the Creature.”

“See! And nearly as evil as Frankenstein and Khan.”

“No.” Castiel smirks. “You’re worse.”

Anthony returns the smile and pushes a lost strand of hair out of his face. “If you say so, darling. You’ve seen the worst of me.”

Castiel yawns. “And yet I still followed you here and we’ve been living together for years.” He turns sideways and stretches his arms around him lazily. “Without dying, I cannot emphasise strongly enough.”

There’s that dry humour again. Anthony nods, a small smile on his face. “And without falling off the wagon more than twice, if one neglects recreational drug use.”

“That’s the junky talking.” Castiel grins and leans in a bit.

Anthony lowers his voice. “Maybe I’m just addicted to you.”

They are only inches apart, and Castiel’s answer is no more than a murmur. “Shouldn’t use irony on something so close to the truth.”

Their lips touch, softly. Anthony raises a hand to cup his angel’s face and gently moves his lips against Castiel’s. They both taste like smoke and fish and tartar sauce, but they couldn’t care less. Because it’s not about aesthetics. It’s not about perfection.

They’re just happy.

After what feels like forever, Anthony breaks the kiss and opens his eyes. Brown meets blue, and Anthony slightly shakes his head in disbelieve, unable to comprehend that he really is blessed with this angel. That he’s his, and he no longer has to chain him for him not to fly away.

“I love you, Castiel.” His voice is unbearably soft. He tries to put all of his feelings inside it and, judging from his angel’s genuine smile, he succeeds.

“I know.” Castiel looks at him lovingly, his eyes flickering over every detail of his face. They finally settle on his eyes and his lips part with a smile.

“I-“

“Anthony”

Castiel’s face fades away, the words he’s waited so long to hear for left unspoken.

“Wake up already!”

He opens his eyes. On the sheets beneath him sits his partner, the same loving look on his face as he smiles at him.

“Come on, you’ve been sleeping for at least ten hours. I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up at all.” He stands up, walks around the room and carefully makes his side of the bed.

“’Morning, Phale.”

The other man throws him an annoyed look for the nickname – as usual – and gets ready to leave the room. “I’ve already prepared breakfast. Bacon and champignons must be ready any minute.”

Anthony smiles. “That’s lovely, darling, thank you, but would you mind starting without me?”

Phil nods understandingly and walks out of the room. “Join me when you’re ready,” he calls, walking down the corridor.

Anthony sighs. He closes his eyes again, trying to imagine how that dream would have ended. How would those words sound, coming from his angel? How would they sound if they were directed towards him? He will never know.

But as he lies in Phil’s and his bed, staring at the ceiling of a very British house belonging to two very British people, he realises he doesn’t need to know.

He turns to his side and the old bureau catches his sight. On it is nothing but stationery and neatly organised letters from Lawrence in chronological order.

Anthony gets out of bed and sits down at it. He takes the usual pen and begins to write.


End file.
